She lives on the first floor of a one floor home, where the basement gives dimension to an otherwise 2d structure. She hoards toothbrushes and floss, but does not have an en suite. The color comes from one side of the wall made of brick. It is not there, though she wishes it was. There is a closet, one. Her room is the only bedroom. There is a kitchen where she stamps her packages, where oranges nap next to her letters. The cupboards have flour and baking powder, but no baking soda. This makes cooking harder; she cannot make shortcake. She can make sugar cookies, but she does not. The bathroom is next to her living room; this is the only room with both a television and a bookcase. It is not Seattle, it is another city. The bookcase has one book from Seattle, though it is a Matisse book, and she does not like Matisse. The bathroom is clean. This is because her toothbrushes are in her room. They make her feel clean.

She has 3 purses. She buys one she does not use. It is not expensive. She has two keys, one is orange, this is for her house. The man made it orange, though she did not ask. The second is silver, key color, for her car. Her car is silver. She has a toothbrush. Clean teeth in her mouth. Socks, not orange, a different color. They do not fit her feet well, but they are clean. She does not keep her gloves in here, she keeps them on her hands or in her drawers. Her wallet is copper, like the bricks she does not own. There are no coins in there, there are two bills, but both are fives. She will tip with them. She does not tip well, but she does not tip poorly. She forgets to tip one restaurant by her house; she does not know why. No food goes in her purse. She does not think it would be content. She can eat toothpaste if she needs.